


Places We Have Never Known

by kijikun, Obstinate Nocturna (ChrisCrossed)



Series: The Flow of the Light [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Attempted Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, M/M, Megatron's head flower, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rodimus has self-worth issues, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Therapy, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, artist rodimus, background Ratchet/Drift, implied past megatron/orion pax - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:32:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5608681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijikun/pseuds/kijikun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCrossed/pseuds/Obstinate%20Nocturna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron is fed up with watching Rodimus slowly destroy himself, but only out of concern of the welfare of the ship. No other reason.</p><p><i>"Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open?"</i> - Rumi</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Formerly: _Something's Brewing_

Megatron, for the most part, ignored his 'co'-Captain’s proclivity to make a fool of himself when off duty. Times like now when the sleek speedster was downing another shot and flirting with everything and anything even mildly senticant. He was fairly certain Rodimus had been flirting with Rewind's camera earlier. 

He was beginning to think Orion sent him on this ship of fools to hopefully scare the baby Prime straight. If that had been his plan, it certainly seemed to be backfiring spectacularly. Megatron wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or spitefully amused by that.

"Aw slag," the mini bot bartender grumbled putting another glass of fool's engeron in from of Megatron - Swerve was at least decent enough to mix the swill with a flavoring - looking across the room. "I'd better go put a stop to that or Rodimus'll have a fit when he sobers up. Or Mags will."

“He should learn to face the consequences of his actions,” Megatron said coolly.

Swerve rolled his optics. "He should pay his tab more often and go see Rung more than me is what he should do." He ex-vented. 

Megatron wasn't sure when the mini bot bartender stopped being scared sparkless of him, but he'd rather hear snark than cowering. He'd never gotten the taste for liking cowering. 

Rodimus’ drunken laughter cut through the noise of the bar again, and Megatron fought not to crush the glass in his hand, almost as hard as he fought not to turn around and see exactly what his co-Captain found so slagging funny.

"You sure any of us want to see the consequences of Rodimus fragging Thunderclash?" Swerve asked.

The glass in his hand cracked slightly. Megatron turned, despite himself, and looked. And there was the Lost Light's (co) Captain, one baby Prime, in the lap of a mech the baby Prime in question was often very loud in his dislike. Thunderclash looked like he was protesting, mildly, but Rodimus had turned on that smile of his that seemed to melt the resistance of most mechs. 

Megatron stopped himself before he wondered if Rodimus had turned that smile on Optimus before.

Venting his frustration out into a long sigh, Megatron stood up. “I’ll handle it.” It was his duty as (co) Captain to make sure his crew was looked after, after all, and he was proper Autobot now wasn't he?

And maybe the thought of dragging Rodimus out by the audial fin was slightly amusing.

Not as amusing as the image of making Starscream eat that crown of his but rather amusing.

"I think, Rodimus, it is time you retire for the night," Megatron said sterned, as he stalked up to where Rodimus was still making a spectacle of himself. He'd known buymechs with more self restraint. "You have made enough of a spectacle of yourself for one evening." 

Rodimus blinked up at Megatron, his optics dull with intoxication. “Oh hey Megs!” Rodimus grinned drunkenly, his words slurring slightly. 

"How much have you drank?" he demanded.

Rodimus optics dimmed then brightened very slowly. "Just engex. Want some?"

Thunderclash's optics flickered from the lap full of speedster he had to Megatron. "He has been acting oddly." The large mech said in concern. "Captain perhaps you should go recharge."

"Aw, but Clash we were just getting friendly," Rodimus' engine purred. 

Megatron tried not to get too much enjoyment out of the startled burst of static Rodimus made as the ex-Decepticon grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him out of Thunderclash’s lap. “As I was saying,” Megatron told the speedster, “You have made quite enough of a spectacle of yourself for one evening.”

"Jeez, if you wanted me for yourself you coulda said," Rodimus drawled a bit of Nyon accent creeping in around the edges. He melted against Megatron as if his frame was made of liquid metal. He certain felt hot enough. 

"I have far better taste," Megatron scoffed. "Walk or I will make you walk." He said, with a not so gentle push to Rodimus’ back toward the door to emphasize his point.

Rodimus made a plaintive sound but started walking. "Such a charge kill, Megs. Maybe you just don't like Speedsters. Wings maybe more your thing? Pretty little Seekers. Drift said you never tried for him on the berth. And I mean he's smoking. Ratchet's a lucky slagger." 

Megatron idly- mostly idly- contemplated just knocking Rodimus out, seeing as unconsciousness appeared to be the only thing that ever shut the smaller bot up. “You’re drunk, Rodimus.” 

"Yes, I am," Rodimus laughed, spinning around to pin Megatron with that megawatt smile. "So what? Everyone likes me better drunk. I'm more fun! Don't try to be things I'm not. Good old herth bopping part boty Hot Rod. Come on, don't you want to get a taste?"

“Ask me again when you’re sober.” Megatron replied before he could stop himself.

Rodimus looked confused stumbling to a stop in front of his hab-suite door. "Why would you want to frag me sober?"

Primus, smelt him down. “Go to berth, Rodimus,” Megatron ordered, avoiding the question entirely.

The Speedster looked even more off balance. "I -- yeah sure. Fine." He punched in the code after a few tries that opened his door. "Your loss."

Megatron fought not to roll his optics, or tell Rodimus to drink some energon. Consequences of his actions. A hangover was the least Rodimus deserved after this.

Rodimus disappeared into his hab-suite, and Megatron stood there several kliks to make sure the mech didn't come right back out. Ex-venting in frustration, he went to track down the Lost Light’s resident psychologist, Rodimus’ words still replaying in processor. Rodimus needed to talk to _someone_ about these issues. 

Not at all because it would keep him from thinking about what he'd turned down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a planned silly sexy fic and gained plot as we wrote. At least four more chapters to go before it's done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus hates the morning after.

Rodimus felt like slag as his systems slowly came online as he left recharge. _Primus_ what had he done last night? 

Well, considering he was waking up alone, in his own berth, and the only thing that was sore was his head, he clearly hadn’t done anyone last night. He couldn't decide if it was relief or disappointment he felt. Still he must have really gotten wrecked, he barely remembered getting back to his own hab-suite --

Wait, he remembered some of it. Megatron pulling him off of somemech's lap and then walking him to his hab-suite. Refusing to frag Rodimus. 

_I have far better taste_ , Megatron's voice echoed through his processor (which had helpfully recalled and replayed the audio). Rodimus sat up and rubbed his hand over his face. Well, it been awhile since a mech had made him feel dirty without even 'facing him. Should have known the ex-warlord would be good at making a mech feel like slag.

It occurred to Rodimus about then that maybe he was drinking way too much if he’d thought it was a good idea to offer to let Megatron frag him. "I didn't think I had that much," he rumbled to himself. 

There were two comm messages waiting for him and thinking it be better to get straight into work that think about what he'd almost done or had done, he played them.

Then wished he hadn't.

The first was from First Aid asking him if he'd come in for a 'routine' maintenance exam that Rodimus was really sure he wasn't due for..

The second was from Rung. Wanting to set up an _appointment_ and that no it wasn't a request. 

Rodimus groaned. "I really really fragging hate Megatron. Most mechs are happy just saying no." He told himself he'd say that right to Megs face later. He'd call him on being an jerk about some drunken flirting. 

Then he remembered whose lap Megatron had pulled him off. He wondered if he could drown himself in the washrack.

Another comm. pinged at him, and Rodimus groaned.

A (co) Captain’s work was never done, it seemed. Not even for the worst hangover of his life.

\--

Rodimus’ hangover persisted for most of the day, as hangovers were wont to do when mechs didn’t deal with them before recharging. As did the bits and flashes of memory from the night before that kept popping up, data packets not completely corrupted by his excessive drinking binge. Like the fact that it was- gag- _Thunderclash’s lap_ Megatron had pulled him off of (Rodimus wasn’t sure what was worse; the fact that he’d been hitting on Thunderclash or that he might have actually owed Megatron a sincere and sparkfelt thank you).

Or that Megatron could - fool’s energon or not - pick him up one handed with very little effort.

What did him in, though, as he was combing through the fragmented data, was a snippet of audio.

His own, drunken laughter echoed in his audials. _"So what? Everyone likes me better drunk. I'm more fun! Don't try to be things I'm not. Good old berth hopping party bot Hot Rod. Come on, don't you want to get a taste?"_

_“Ask me again when you’re sober.”_

That didn't make any sense. Rodimus played it again.

_“Ask me again when you’re sober.”_

The words didn't change, but Rodimus was just as confused. Was Megatron offering to frag him so long as he wasn't drunk? No, that was stupid. Anyways he didn't want to frag Megatron. It was _Megatron_ \-- how many friends had he lost to the Decepticons over the millions of years of his life?

Sure, he was- admittedly against his better judgement- a little curious. He’d interfaced his way through any of the Lost Light’s crew that was willing, had a thousand and one stories to tell but. Well. It was _Megatron_. Who wouldn’t be a little curious?

Maybe he should ask Drift -- no, no that was a terrible idea. Drift might tell him. Or worse, Drift wouldn’t tell him and would just give him that disappointed look of ‘really Rodimus?’ 

He'd already gotten that look this shift for his obvious hangover. Drift had been trying to get him to cut back on the engex before he'd left -- before Rodimus had used him to cover his own aft and betrayed his best friend and ripped his home away from him -- 

Hello, self loathing how are you this day cycle? Maybe he should comm Rung back sooner rather than later. Or talk to Drift. Or something. 

Because winding up his Thunderclash's lap and wondering about Megatron in the berth surely meant he'd hit rock bottom. 

Rodimus really, really wanted a drink.

Instead, he did the responsible thing and opened up his comm. 

::Hey, Rung?:: he commed. 

::Hello, Captain, how are you?:: The font Rung used was always so soothing.

::Yeah about that -- let's set up an appointment?.::


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron just wanted an oil bath.

Megatron was more grateful than he would ever admit to anyone that Rodimus didn't seem to remember a thing about their hallway 'conversation' or suspect him behind the sudden interest from Rung and the medical staff.

Deadlo--Drift kept giving him suspicious looks, though frankly that could be for any reason. A lot of very well deserved reasons. Drift was Rodimus 'best friend', though so there was a possibility that it was about Rodimus.

He almost snorted to himself. "Best friend," did mechs not use proper words for such bonds these days? He supposed maybe he was just out of touch and it wasn't as if he'd encouraged any such bonds as leader of the Decepticons. Still, it wasn't important. As long as Drift didn't make an issue of anything, let the sword-mech be suspicious as he liked. 

It wasn’t as though Megatron was unaccustomed to working while feeling the suspicious glares of others on his back at this point. He would take suspicious glares over murderous glares and backstabbing intentions. 

He's optics settled on his (co) Captain for a moment, and Rodimus flashed him that bright flashy smile before going back to talking animatedly to Drift about this one planet they just _had_ to stop on. 

Megatron resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose or face palm, or miss Starscream just a tiny tiny bit. Which just showed he was losing it. Really, he missed Soundwave. Another thing to regret in a long line. 

"Rodimus, if you don't mind I'm sure Drift has a job to do with which you are interfering. And I will remind you that any stop-over at any planet must be cleared with both myself and Ultra Magnus first," Megatron intoned. "Now if you aren't too terrible busy, I'd like to go off shift and drink some of that swill you claim is engeon."

If Megatron’s optics weren’t deceiving him, Rodimus almost looked guilty. But then that ne’er-do-well grin was back, though perhaps not as brilliantly as before. “Yeah, sure, consider the bridge handed over.”

Megatron hated the guilt the swelled in his spark as he left the bridge. Damn Optimus and damn his baby Prime. He stalked off the bridge, and unfortunately almost directly into the former CMO of the autobots. 

Ratchet. 

Jealousy- a jealousy so old and brittle that Megatron was surprised to still feel it- surged in him for a moment. 

"Just the mech I was looking for," Ratchet said.

"You are joking," Megatron intoned, wondering if Rodimus had set this up as revenge but that seemed too unlike the autobot. 

“You should know better than most anyone on this ship that I don’t joke.” Ratchet told him, arms crossed.

"Someone once told me that was a mistaken view to have of you," Megatron told him. "Though I've never seen evidence of it. Come to dismantle me, medic?"

“Much as I might enjoy that, no.”

Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a processor ache starting to form. "I have had to put up with Rodimus acting like himself for the last half of this shift, so if you could please get to your point of looking for me."

“We need to talk.” 

For some reason, those words sent a chill down Megatron’s spine. “About?”

Ratchet smiled. "Rodimus."

“Why?” Megatron asked, and this probably would have been a much more productive conversation if either mech felt like providing more than a monosyllabic answer.

“I know you’re the one who contacted Rung about Rodimus.” Ratchet told him.

Megatron felt his intake bob. "I suppose then we should talk, but not here."

"Of course not," Ratchet agreed. "Follow me."

Megatron ex-vented on slightly and nodded tightly. "I must say I never expected you of all mech's to be Endura with Deadlock," he said as they walked. "Being the former autobot CMO and seeing what he has done."

"Winding me up isn't going to work, Megatron. I know you damn well know he's gone back to Drift. I've heard you call him that and is pissing me off and avoiding this worth hurting either kid?" Ratchet's voice was even, calm. 

Megatron jaw clenched. "No," he admitted. Drift had been special and his defection to the autobots still smarted in a way Starscream’s predictable and constant betrayals had stopped long before ( _lie_ a bit of his processor whispered to him but he ignored it). "I'm am -- pleased -- to see that he's found whatever it was he was seeking."

Ratchet glanced back at him at that but kept walking. "He found himself," Ratchet said shortly, then stopped in front of a door near medical and punch a code in. "Come on, I don't want this to take all day cycle."

Neither did Megatron, since he'd be partly hoping to get a oil soak in while most of the Lost Light was still on shift. He'd always hated public wash rack and oil baths. The private wash rack and oil bath might have been one of the perks when he'd become a champion Gladiator. It was one of the few luxuries he'd always insisted on, though certain mechs- _Starscream_ \- always called his lifestyle spartan. 

Ratchet's hab-suite looked more like a storage room, but Megatron didn't feel the need to comment on it. He stood just inside, his back to a wall and the door in sight. "Well?"

"Just what do you think you're doing with Rodimus?"

“I do not understand the question. Do you believe I have some ulterior motive for him?” Megatron questioned, smirking slightly. “Yes, I’ve concocted a devious plot to try to get him to stop using intoxicants as a coping device and get him the mental help he clearly needs, how nefarious. Really, Ratchet?”

Ratchet glowered. "Don't get smart with me, Megatron. There's a lot I haven't forgiven you for, including how you treated Pax," the medic said sharply."But, and this might come as a shock, I don't think you have nefarious intentions in mind for him. I sometimes wonder if you have a Prime fetish but --"

“A _what_?!” Megatron spluttered.

"You heard me." 

Megatron was honestly struck speechless, staring at the medic.

Ratchet laughed. "You should see your face." He shook his head. "Look I just want to know why you suddenly care about Rodimus welfare and how you managed to get him to listen. Kid barely listens to me or Optimus."

“It makes my life easier if he is not methodically inflicting some sort of masochistic self-punishment on himself.” Megatron said. “We are ‘co-Captains’ after all.”

The medic's expression dropped back into a scowl. "I guarantee he's not doing it to make your life harder and he's not the first mech that's dealt with slag in that manner. We were in a millions of years long civil war if you might recall." 

“I recall, yes,” Megatron growled a little. "That doesn't mean it's healthy when he was responsibilities. I'm well aware how spoiled he's been since he became an autobot. I saw great possibilities in him once."

"You mean how you complimented him on the worst orn of his life thus far at that point and invited him to be Decepticon and then held him hostage in attempt to kill Optimus?" Ratchet asked coldly. "Or maybe when you shot him through the spark and let him drift out into space with Matrix around his neck?" 

Megatron’s mouth pressed together in a thin line.

"You're also an autobot now if you'd forgotten." Ratchet exvented. "Slag, I didn't actually bring you in here to lecture you about that -- that's Rodimus place if he wants to bring it up. I just want to know why you are suddenly interested in how he treats himself?" 

“Because it’s never affected me personally before,” Megatron said, “And I did not realize how deeply it affected him. Believe what you will of me, Ratchet, but I take care of my own. Rodimus needs help before he tears himself apart.”

Ratchet face tightened into something like disapproval, then he nodded. "I know. I'd swear it was a Prime thing if I hadn't been the doctor for several more Primes."

“I suppose that would make you an expert,” Megatron drawled dryly. “If you’re done interrogating me about my motives, can I go now?”

"Assume I've given you the standard hurt him and I'll dismantle you speech and get out of here."

“Gladly.” Megatron said, quickly exiting the room before Ratchet pulled out the scalpels or something worse from one of the boxes strewn about. He headed towards the washrack and wondered idly if Optimus would take it poorly if he yelled at him for not telling him part of why he made him 'co' captain with Rodimus. He did not appreciate being used to scare Optimus’s protege into line.

Though, to fair, that wasn't completely Optimus’ style. Soft-sparked fool probably thought they'd learn from each other. Megatron put the thought from his processors and stalked down the halls toward his hab-suite.

He wasn’t really in the mood for an oil bath anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus has his first session with Rung.

Rung smiled at Rodimus in a completely benign, professional, kind way that made Rodimus want to get back up and walk right back out of his office.

“...look can we just get this over with?” Rodimus asked after several long kliks of neither saying anything.

"You are here under your own free will," Rung pointed out. "We don't have to talk about anything if you don't feel like it, Rodimus."

Rodimus looked longingly at the door. How could he ever explain this to Rung when he didn't even wanted to admit it to Drift? When he wasn't sure what he should be admitting to start with? "I'm having a feeling and I want it to stop." 

Rung raised an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

Rodimus covered his face. "Do I have to?"

“Of course not. Like I said, we don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t feel like it. Or if you'd like I could ask you some questions and if you feel like answering them we can go from there,” Rung suggested. 

“Sure, I guess,” Rodimus muttered.

"Overall, how would you describe your mood recently?"

“What? Come on, Rung, you see me every day. You know how my mood is.”

Rung shook his head. "I only know how you appear to feel, not how you might really feel." It didn't sound like an accusation, which Rodimus had kind of expected anything Rung would say would sound. "Would you say, for instance, that you've been happy recently?"

"No." The word came out without him full processing it. 

"Do you want to talk about that?" Rung asked gently. 

Rodimus spark felt tight. "I don't know. I've messed a lot of things up."

“Like?” Rung prompted.

Rodimus looked hard at the floor. "A lot of stuff. I shouldn't be Captain. Drift shouldn't still call me his best friend."

“I think that’s up to Drift, isn’t it?” Rung asked.

"Yeah, but I let him take the fall for me! I kicked him off his home, I -- I took something really important from him. And he still thinks of me as his best friend," Rodimus said voice full of static.

“Maybe he thought you were worth forgiving.”

Rodimus laughed, he couldn't help it. "He'd be wrong."

“You don’t think you are?” Rung asked.

"Uh, no?" Rodimus said incredulously. "How many times have I almost gotten the crew killed? Or endangered people I say are my friends?"

Rung folded his hands together. “Rodimus, I don’t know if you remember or not, but everyone on this crew is here voluntarily. They chose to accompany you in your search for the Knights of their own free will, knowing the risks." 

Rodimus opened his mouth. 

"Yes, even Megatron."

He snapped it shut, but only for a klik. "I should have stepped down as Captain. I should have never let Drift take the blame. But Drift's not even angry with me, just -- disappointed in some of the stuff I've been doing since I made him leave. I expected him to punch me, at least. He didn't even do that."

Rung raised an eyebrow. 

"What?"

“Nothing, I’m just listening,” Rung said. “It’s what I’m here for.”

"You did the eye thing," Rodimus protested, then exvented his shoulders slumping. "Yeah, okay, I've been getting kinda -- obvious with picking mechs up at Swerve's and I know Drift doesn't think it's healthy for me but -- "

“But?” Rung asked. 

"It's not hurting anyone, so I don't know what the big deal is. It's just 'facing. Makes everyone happy." He couldn't bring himself to look Rung in the optics. Sure, everyone knew he was in a different berth almost every orn but --

“Does it make you happy?” Rung asked, quirking his head. “You don’t look very happy talking about it.”

"Yeah, of course, who doesn't like 'facing, I - " Rodimus stopped. His tanks rolled a little. "No. It doesn't. At least -- not after."

“Rodimus, do you think maybe the reason you do this is because it makes bots like you, not because you enjoy it?”

Rodimus intake felt tight like unseen hands were tightening. "Maybe."

Rung smiled. “I think we’re good for today.

"We are?" Rodimus asked, confused. That hadn't been what he'd come to talk about.

"Yes," Rung assured him. "Would you like to schedule another appoint?"

Rodimus found himself nodding. Yeah, he would. Rung looked inordinately pleased as he gave him a time and orn to come back and see him. 

“But if you need to talk before then, feel free to pop in,” the psychologist followed up, as Rodimus headed to the door.

He was glad he wasn't on shift for a while yet, and applied his face directly to the couch cushions when he got into his suite. Which was how Drift sound him later.

"That's not what I meant when I suggested becoming one with your surroundings." 

Rodimus flipped him off. “Ha. Ha."

Drift patted the back of his helm. "You okay or is this a new relaxation method?" 

“I had my first session with Rung. So. No, and maybe.”

The pat turned into a gently stroke. "Rough session," Drift's voice was kinder. Kinder that he deserved.

"I'm sorry," Rodimus said not lifting his head. "Drift, I'm so fragging sorry for what I did to you."

“Rodimus, I already told you I forgave you for that -- I chose to take the fall for the Overlord thing --”

Rodimus rolled over. "No, Drift. I should have spoken up or spoken up _for_ you. I threw you out of your home. You _bought me a ship_ and I threw you off of it. You can have forgiven me, but it doesn't mean I'm not sorry. It doesn't mean I feel like you should forgive me. You're my best friend, and I never even went after you. Or tried to get a message to you to come home. That wasn't okay, Drift. You deserve better than that."

“I’m back now,” Drift said gently.

Rodimus sat up and pulled his friend into a hug. Most mechs couldn't get away with touching Drift out of the blue but -- "I missed you."

“I missed you too.” Drift said, and Rodimus could hear him smiling as he hugged the fellow speedster back. “And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for going to see Rung. I’ve been worried about you.”

"...I know." Rodimus admitted, helm on his best friend's shoulder. "Everyone hated me so much. Seemed like the best thing to fix my mess."

“You’re trying, that’s what matters, Rodimus.” 

"I think maybe I should try something that isn't going to the berth drunk with anyone that looks twice," Rodimus said. 

Drift chuckled, though there was a sad note to it.. “I meant going to talk to Rung.”

"Oh," Rodimus muttered face plates going hot. "Sorry."

“Don’t apologize, it’s alright,” Drift told him, hugging him tightly. “Now, what do you say we go race through the lower deck and tick off Magnus? That always cheers you up.”

Rodimus laughed. "Yeah, sounds good. Haven't had a good race in a while."

“See how many laps we can get before Magnus stops us?” Drift grinned, standing and offering Rodimus a hand up.

"Or he sics Megatron on us," Rodimus laughed taking his friend's hand. 

“You know I hadn’t thought of that.” Drift said, then laughed. “Well, he’d still have to catch us.”

Rodimus snickered. "Don't think there is much of a chance of that."

“Well what are we waiting for then, c’mon.” Drift pulled him toward the door.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Rodimus laughed.


	5. Chapter 5

Megatron looked forward to several cycles of blessed quiet with nothing more than his data pad of poetry (that he and Ratchet had agreed had never changed hands) and a rare ration of pure engeron after a deca-cycle of ridiculousness on Lost Light. Sometimes he feared Rodimus Prime had a deactivation wish, other times he just thought the mech just didn't know how to not take risks.

"I'm going out," Ravage said, tail swishing. 

"Date?" Megatron asked mildly. 

"Card game," Ravage told him. 

Megatron wondered what Soundwave would think of one his cassettes gambling with autobots. He stopped trying quickly when his spark clenched. He didn't need to remember that he missed Soundwave companionship. "Try not to win too much of their money.."

Ravage laughed and bounded out the door. 

With that settled, Megatron supposed he at least didn’t have to worry about Ravage deciding his lap looked like a nice place to nap for several hours and could read in peace.

Of course several klik later the door alert went off with an entry request. He ignored it. 

The alert pinged again. 

And again.

And again.

_Someone_ was using the door alert to a song. A very annoying song.

"I will destroy that sensor," Megatron growled. Then felt a touch foolish and got to his peds. He let the door slide open. "What?" he hissed.

Megatron wasn’t sure who he was expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been Rodimus.

"Why?" Rodimus demanded, hands on those Primus be damned hips.

“I’m sorry, but as I have not recently developed the power to read minds, you are going to have to elaborate, Rodimus. Why what?” Megatron asked pointedly, blocking entry into his hab-suite. 

Rodimus clenched his denata. "I'm not saying it out here in the hall," he grumbled, his engine a low thrum. His field was clenched tight, but more confused than angry. His field was still far too open for Megatron's liking. 

The temptation to close the door in Rodimus’ face was great.

It must have shown because Rodimus deflated in a way that reminded him far _far_ too much of a young idealistic cop with the most stunning blue optics and the most open field he'd ever felt ---

Megatron rerouted his processor from that quickly. "Get in here before I change my mind."

He stepped back to let Rodimus come inside.

Rodimus stepped inside the door sliding closed behind him. He looked around like he was looking for a distraction. 

"Well?" Megatron demanded. "I do not like my time wasted."

"Your place is really -- bare," Rodimus said, sounding more confused than teasing.. 

“Did you come here to criticize my interior decorating or speak about something worth my time?” He felt out of control enough just with Rodimus in his hab-suite, Rodimus would not be allowed to reroute the conversation tree.

Rodimus’ shoulder struts slump more. "You probably won't think anything I say is worth your time," he muttered. Then set his shoulder back again, which set off how lovely his spoilers were. Which the brat probably knew. "Why did you tell me to ask you again when I was sober? Why did do any of that stuff after with First Aid or Rung?"

Megatron stiffened slightly. He had rather been hoping that Rodimus had been too drunk to remember him saying that, and that First Aid and Rung would keep their mouths shut about who had encouraged them to give Rodimus a little extra attention.

"They didn't tell me if that's what you're thinking," Rodimus said quickly. "My processor isn't completely defective, you know?" he gave Megatron one of those grins. 

“You are my co-Captain,” Megatron finally said, ignore how easily Rodimus put himself down. “It makes my job easier if you’re taken care of.”

Rodimus intake bobbed. "Why -- why did you say the thing about asking you when I was sober? Was it just to shut me up?" he asked. His field was achingly vulnerable in a way that ping something on Megatron's priority tree. He ruthlessly and with practiced ease rerouted. 

Did the Rodimus know how much he was projecting? Probably not. 

“I think we’ll both be happier forgetting that exchange ever happened.” Megatron finally said. He exvented and wondered he Ultra Magnus would take his side if he forcefully threw Rodimus out. 

"I've tried," Rodimus insited. "I don't understand -- mechs don't want me sober. So why?"

“I do not appreciate intoxication in the berth.” Megatron wasn’t sure why he was explaining himself to Rodimus. He did _not_ explain himself. 

_Lie_ , something that sounded like Soundwave's voice said neutrally in his processor. 

Rodimus started at him with confusion and pain in his optics. "I don't understand. Then you meant you didn't want to fra -- interface with me? But you didn't want me to try to --- convince you?"

Megatron bit back an irritated venting. He knew he shouldn’t have tried to explain. “When I take someone to berth,” the ex-Decepticon began slowly, “I take them there only with their full consent. Intoxication prevents that. Ergo, I do not interface with drunk mechs.”

He did not mention he rarely took mechs to his berth. Not once his revolution had started in earnest. 

"You were a warlord," Rodimus protested even more confused. Distress was leaking into his field, whether at the idea Megatron wouldn't force another or because it wasn't what a good little autobot would think of the fearsome Megatron -- Megatron really didn't care. "You -- wait that isn't even the point! Are you saying that's the only reason you turned down my offer?"

"I have been a great many things, but I have never been a mech that needed to force, drugged or intoxicated others to get them into my berth," Megatron ground out, a cold fury growing in his spark.. "Now get out of my hab-suite, you spoiled little Prime."

"I'm not," Rodimus said his distress leaking into his vocalizer. "A Prime," he clarified quickly, though his vocalizer clicked like it wanted to offline. " I'm not really a Prime. Carrying the matrix doesn't make you a Prime"

Megatron did not feel bad about the pain in Rodimus field, he _did not_ \- “Goodnight, Rodimus.” Megatron said, opening the door.

"Please," Rodimus voice crackled with static. "I just want to know -- why? No one ever wants -- "

“I already told you, I do not-”

Rodimus shook his head. "That's not what I mean. Not why didn't you want me drunk. But why would you want _me_. I just -- could you just tell me if it was just slag to make me shut up or not? This is humiliating enough without having to keep asking. I promise I'll let it drop after this --" When Megatron didn't answer immediately, Rodimus deflated. “Fine, I get it. I’ll go.”

“It was not entirely to shut you up.” Megatron refused to look directly at Rodimus.

Rodimus stopped. "Oh." More uncertainty flooded his field. "Do you still want me to go?" 

"I think you should, Rodimus," Megatron said. "I will not be another thing you use to hurt yourself."

Rodimus shoulders slumped in defeat. "Okay, I'll go." He didn't looked at Megatron as he went to the door. "Thank you, I'll keep my promise."

Megatron let him go. It was better this way. No matter what the clenching of his spark said otherwise.


	6. Chapter 6

_“I know you're tired but come, this is the way.”  
― Rumi_

 

Rodimus wanted to look away from Rung's gaze, but he forced himself to meet it. "I'm not trying offline myself. I know Megatron thinks I am, I know Magnus just thinks I want the glory of being hero, but it's not that. I just don't see a reason to put another mech in danger when I can just put my spark on the line instead." He stopped. "I probably shouldn't though, huh? That last stunt even freaked Drift out. Megatron was so slagged off he wouldn't even look at me. Though that might because of our last conversation in which I was a Grade A glitch."

“You keep bringing Megatron up. What happened in that conversation?” Rung's voice was still conversational, neutral. 

He did drop his optics then. "He -- we -- I wanted to talk about why he turned me down when I was wasted the night he made me leave Swerve's. He didn't." 

“I see,” Rung said. “Does it bother you that Megatron wasn’t interested?”

Rodimus grimaced. That was a big question wasn't it? "I don't know. He told me to ask him again when I was sober -- before, and so I asked him why and it just seemed to make him angry with me. More than normal. I don't know why I even _care_. It's _Megatron_. He's tried to kill me quite a few times."

“I think that could be said for several mechs on this ship,” Rung said, smiling a little. 

"Yeah, I guess," Rodimus admitted with a chuckle. Still, Megatron was different from say Cyclonus. "I still wish I knew why I cared, or why it -- _hurts_." The last word came out soft. Rodimus could almost taste the pain in the glyphs. 

“Well, let’s talk about that, then. Maybe I can help you figure it out.” Rung suggested, gently. “I’d imagine that you haven’t been turned down on such a -- ah, offer, before?”

Rodimus face plates heated. "Not really. Not -- not like he did. When I asked him later, he made it sound like -- like fragging me when I was drunk would be like me not consenting."

Rung nodded as if he understood. “Given his background consent, I imagine, would be rather important to a mech like Megatron.”

"I guess I don't understand, and I don't understand why he got angry when I tried to ask him about it. I don't understand him at all and I really wish I could go back to not caring that I don't understand him," Rodimus grumbled. 

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Rung said, smiling a little wryly, “If it was, I would probably be out of a job.”

Rodimus managed a weak laugh. "I suppose so." He paused looking back at Rung. " But what do I do about it?"

“Well, you can either ignore it, which is emphatically _not_ my recommendation because it’s unhealthy in a number of ways,” Rung said, “Or you can try to find the root of it and try to work through it.”

That sounded slightly terrifying. What if the root of it was just that Rodimus was himself? His tank rolled slightly. "I'll try that whole finding the root and working through it thing." 

Rung smiled, pleased. “Good. I can actually help you with that.”

Rodimus forced a bit of a smile. "Great! -- Uh, how do I start?"

"A lot of self reflection to start with," Rung offered.. 

“Oh,” Rodimus said, not quite able to keep the grin up. 

"And I'll help you as much as I can," Rung explained. "You might ask Drift to teach you some meditation methods."

“Yeeeaaah, we’ve tried that,” Rodimus said, grimacing slightly at the memories.

“Well, it might not hurt to try again.” Rung suggested. 

"Okay, I'll give it a try." Rodimus looked at his hands. "Uh -- what am I looking for the root of again?"

“Well, I’d say you could start with whatever you feel compels you to try to earn other's’ affections though physical encounters, since we’ve concluded that it makes you unhappy," Rung suggested.

Rodimus nodded slowly, intake feeling tight. "Yeah. I'll start there."

“Good.” Rung said. “Why don’t we wrap up for now, and you can tell me how the meditation works out in our next session?”

"Yeah," Rodimus said exvented. "Thanks, Rung."

“Of course, Rodimus.”

Rodimus gave Rung a weak smile, and left the office. Drift wouldn't be off shift for a while, and Rodimus wasn't sure what to do with himself. Well, there was Swerve's and he _did_ know how to just talk to other mechs.

The bar was mostly empty, when he took a seat at the bar. Swerve gave him a grin. "The usual Rodimus?"

"Nah, just a flavored energon," Rodimus said. "Uh, not that I don't love your drinks Swerve --"

“I’m sure my ego will recover,” Swerve chuckled, “One flavored energon coming up, Captain.”

Rodimus grinned. "Thanks, Swerve. Any news floating around these orns?"

Swerve laughed. “What, don’t you read the newsletter?”

He rolled his optics. "Swerve, there is more news on this ship that who is fragging who." He paused. "I think?"

Swerve chuckled. “It’s pretty quiet, since Megatron and Magnus are both on shift right now.”

Rodimus laughed. "They are a pretty scary combined force of disapproval."

"More like terrifying beyond all reason," Swerve laughed. "I mean Mags can be okay on his own, but those two together --"

“Yeah, glad Magnus was on our side during the war,” Rodimus laughed.

Swerve grinned. "I don't know the idea of him writing citations to Starscream make me feel all warm inside."

Rodimus laughed, resting his head on the bar. "He would have too. Oh Primus, he would have."

The mini bot patted his helm. "Glad I could cheer you up, Captain."

“Thanks, Swerve, I appreciate it,” Rodimus chuckled, “I needed that.”

"Hey, what are friends for."

Rodimus cycled his optics. Friends? He didn't think -- Hot Rod had some friends, once, long ago, but not -- 

He lifted his helm and smiled at Swerve. "Yeah, I guess it is. How's business been anyways? I noticed you let Ten do a mural in Cyclonus' brooding corner."

“Heh, yeah. Although with Ten it’s not so much that I let Ten do it as he sorta just decided he was gonna.” Swerve laughed. “It’s nice though, right?”

"It really is," Rodimus agreed. "He got your grin perfectly. Though I'm not sure when he's seen Ultra Magnus smile." He joked.

“I’m not either.” Swerve went back to polishing up some glasses. "I do like the color it brings to the place. I know my place isn't as swank as Mirages but --"

"Your bar fits the Lost Light and you," Rodimus told him, honestly. 

Swerve turned to look at Rodimus, optics flickering with surprise, then the mini-bot smiled. “Thanks Rodimus. You’re not getting a discount on your drink though,” He joked.

Rodimus laughed. "Wasn't expecting one."

“Good.” Swerve laughed.

\-----

"Meditation?" Drift asked, speculatively, perching on Rodimus' desk beside him. "You kinda decided it was all scrap and not for you last time I tried to teach you."

Rodimus wished he could kick past him in the aft. "It's not all scrap. I was just smarting that I couldn’t get it easy as I thought I should. I'm sorry about that." Apologizing and meaning it was slowly starting to feel less like admitting defeat. 

Drift smiled. “Well, I’ve no objections to trying again, if that’s what you want.”

"Yeah, I would. It -- I think it might help, and it helped you?" Rodimus half asked. "Rung thought it could help me and I trust you above any other mech in this."

“Not to mention I’m the only one on the ship who probably knows proper meditation techniques,” Drift teased, nudging him with his shoulder.

Rodimus pulled a face at him. "You're also my best friend." He gently shoulder checked him back. 

“Hey, watch it!” Drift laughed in a way that was absolutely not a protest, turning and pulling Rodimus into a playful headlock. 

Snickering, Rodimus related by poking one of Drift's ticklish spots with a servo. "Attack your captain will you!" 

“This is not conducive to peaceful meditation!” Drift squirmed as he laughed and tried to avoid Rodimus' tickling. He tumbled them into a heap on the floor. 

"Neither is this," Rodimus snickered, going after another ticklish spot. 

Driift laughter was bright as he tried to wiggle away from Rodimus' servos. "That's hardly playing fair!" he accused before poking the spot just under Rodimus spoiler that always made him in convulse with laughter. 

"It isn't?" Rodimus asked, with mock innocence and wide optics. He kept it up for a nano-klik before he collapsed giggling on top of Drift.

Drift, still laughing like his vents couldn't pull in enough air, patted the back of Rodimus' helm. "And that was step one of clearing your mind to become one with the universe."

Rodimus dissolved into another fit of laughter, resting his forehelm against Drift's chassi. .

"Do I even want to know what is going on?" Megatron asked.

“We’re -- meditating?” Drift offered, sounding just the slightest bit embarrassed. 

“Is _that_ what they’re calling it these orns?” The ex-warlord asked dryly.

Rodimus felt like his spark had been punched by the look on Megatron's face. "It's not what it looks like -- we're just goofing around," he tried to explain, not sure why he felt the need to explain himself to _Megatron_. 

Okay, that was a lie, he kind of knew why. 

A low chuckle rumbled out of the ex-warlord. “As you say, Rodimus. Although I suggest you stop -- meditating before Ultra Magnus comes by for this shift’s reports.” With that the mech left the office.

Rodimus groaned letting his forehelm bang on the floor. "Scrap.”

“I guess your meditation lessons will have to wait.” Drift chuckled. 

"Yeah," Rodimus managed a forced chuckle. "I hope he doesn't think we were really doing anything."

Drift looked at Rodimus curiously. “You -- actually care about what he thinks, don’t you?” he asked gently.

Rodimus rolled onto his back, he reset his vocalizer twice. "Yeah, I guess I do. Wish I didn't. It's complicated and you know my feelings on complicated."

“Yes, I believe you succinctly summed it up as ‘I am having a feeling and I’d like it to stop now’.” Drift said, rubbing a hand over Rodimus’ helm affectionately.

He laughed just a little. "Yep, that would be it."

Drift exvented, at rubbed his helm again."I'm going to be a good friend and not reminded you of all the grief you gave me about Ratchet."

"Thanks."

“You’re welcome.” Drift laughed.

"Aft," Rodimus muttered, sitting up.

"Hottest one on the ship," Drift shot back, helping him up. "Yours is a close third."

"Third!" Rodimus protested. "Who's in second?"

"Ratchet."

“Ratchet?!” Rodimus said, half mock offended, half really offended. “Ratchet does _not_ have a better aft than me!”

Drift tapped a servo to his lip. "Let me think, hmm, yes, yes he does. Amazing aft."

“I formally dissolve my friendship with you.” Rodimus sniffed.

"My pain will know no end," Drift said solemnly, then grinned. "Come one, let me help you get these reports done before Ultra Magnus comes for them. I'll start the mediation lessons later."

Rodimus groaned. "Can you just throw me out an airlock and do them yourself?"

"Nope."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron has his own session with rung.

Rung folded his hands and smiled. "It's nice to see you back, Megatron."

Megatron fought very hard not to glare at the psychologist. This would be easier if Rung would be smug, but Megatron wasn’t entirely sure that was an emotion Rung had been programmed with. Or if he had he'd forgotten how to access it.

"Is there something in particular you would like to discuss this session? It's been awhile since we spoke last in this capacity," Rung commented calmly. "Or we can speak about your propensity of turning into gun in more depth." A glimmer of humor. 

"No," Megatron bit out. 

Rung cleared his throat and Megatron tried to pretend that he didn’t know it was to cover up a laugh. “Well then, what would you like to talk about today?”

Megatron crossed his arms over his chest plates. "I'm becoming too attached to a member of this crew. It is interfering with my duties."

“Oh?” Rung asked, sounding a little surprised. “This -- wouldn’t happen to be related to your sudden concern with your 'co'-Captain’s mental well-being, would it?”

The hydraulics in his jaw tightened. "It might."

“Megatron, it’s only natural that you would feel concerned for Rodimus,” Rung explained, “You work together closely, and his well-being has widespread effects among the crew.”

It would be easy to let it go at that. "He does seem to have captured their sparks so to speak," Megatron allowed, almost bitterly.

“Rodimus is very charismatic,” Rung agreed, “Is that a problem?”

"Only if he misuses that charisma," Megatron ground out. "Like he does with Drift."

“With Drift?” Rung asked, surprised.

Megatron grunted in assent, arms tightening where they were crossed. "Rodimus takes liberties he shouldn't."

“I don’t think it’s your place to decide that, Megatron,” Rung frowned, “Rodimus and Drift are friends, and perfectly capable of setting their own boundaries.

"I -- " He cut himself off. "This is what I mean, this -- _thing_ \-- with Rodimus is interfering with my judgement."

“I can see that.” 

Megatron scowled deeper. "I'm certainly glad someone does."

“Have you stopped to take a moment and consider _why_ you might be having this… reaction… to Rodimus?”

Megatron grimaced. "Someone might have suggest I have a -- _Prime_ \-- fetish. Which is not what this is. At all." . 

“A -- oh, I see.” Rung said, his lips quirking. 

"Ratchet is very funny, yes." Megatron exvented. "Still don't know what Orion saw in him." The last part of half mutter, but Rung sprang on it anyways.

“Would that be a touch of jealousy I hear, Megatron?"

Megatron looked away. "No. It is not and I'm not here to talk about Orion Pax or Optimus Prime."

“No, you wished to talk about Rodimus,” Rung said, allowing the topic to shift back.

His first instinct was to deny, but that was the coward's way. He'd already mostly admitted it, no sense in turning back now. "Yes."

Rung took off his specs and polished the lens with a cloth he pulled from his subspace. "Megatron, do you _like_ Rodimus? Respect him?"

“What do you mean?”

"As a co-captain, as a colleague, as just a mech, a friend?"

Megatron shifted slightly in the chair he was sitting in. “I… suppose he is a halfway decent 'co' Captain. When he isn’t busy recklessly endangering himself or acting the fool.”

Rung put his specs back on. "You don't like him endangering himself."

“I find it a waste of his potential," Megatron allowed. 

"And you don't feel Rodimus is living up to his potential, as you see it?" Rung pressed with obvious care.. 

Megatron unfolded his arms. "No. I would think that would be obvious. It's clear neither Optimus nor Ultra Magnus handle him properly. Ultra Magnus I can understand, but Optimus should very well know better. At least he used to," Megatron finished with a bitter snarl. 

“What about their methods don’t you agree with?”

"Ultra Magnus, while I respect him a great deal, thinks rules and lectures will bend Rodimus to change," Megatron snorted. "He seems to have mostly abandoned that, I will admit."

Rung made a soft humming noises. "And what about Optimus Prime?"

Megatron was silent for a long moment. “Optimus Prime has known the boy long enough -- who he is and where he came from -- to know that such tactics are stop gaps, at best, and damaging at worst.” The image of 51/49 carved into Rodimus’ palm sprang, unbidden, to the front of Megatron’s processors.

"What do you think Rodimus needs then?" Rung asked. 

“You cannot try to shame Rodimus into complying with set of standards,” Megatron said, a bit exasperated that he had to explain this. “He will either buck against them, as he does with Ultra Magnus, or let that disappointment make him even more reckless to prove himself.”

Rung nodded slightly. "I do agree, but that doesn't answer what _you_ think Rodimus needs. This seems very important to you, wouldn't you say?" he paused folding his hands. "Maybe a better question would be _why_ is this important to you?"

“We’re ‘co-Captains,’” Megatron said, forcing himself not to roll his optics at the title, “It does no one on the Lost Light any good if Rodimus’ goals and opinions are so easily influenced by outside forces.”

"That's all?" Rung asked in a non-judgmental tone. 

“Isn’t that enough?” Megatron asked back, a bit snappishly.

Rung raised an optic ridge. "That's not up to me, Megatron. Is it enough for you?" When Megatron didn’t answer, Rung smiled. “Well, why don’t we end here for now, and you can think on that and give me an answer next time, if you like?”

Megatron exvented, and nodded. "Fine."

“Until next time, then.” Rung said, watching as the Warlord stood and made his hasty exit. 

Megatron did not slump against the closed door, he did not find himself at a loss with what to do with himself. He did not miss Soundwave's quiet council. Not at all.

\-----

"You seem troubled."

Megatron looked up from his drink and his data pad to see Minimus slid into the booth across from him. Swerve's was mostly quiet since it was movie night, not even Rodimus was there -- not that he made a habit of knowing Rodimus' routines. Megatron had come in hoping to maybe continue his discussion with Cyclonus about the changes in poetic structure and theme over the millennium, but it seemed Cyclonus' conjunx in all but name had coaxed him into going to movie night - at least according to Bluestreak who was behind the bar tonight.

Minmus looked at him expectantly and he realized he hadn't answered yet. "Just lost in thought."

"Shanix for them?" Minimus asked.

"You'd be wasting that shanix," Megatron snorted. Then exvented as Minimus kept looking at him. "I might be a little troubled about my 'co' captain."

“Ah,” Minimus said, sympathetic and understanding. “Yes, Rodimus’ behavior can be a bit worrying at times, can’t it?”

"A touch of an understatement, but yes," Megatron agreed, looking back at his drink. "I'm more troubled by how much to bothers me.". 

“He does have an alarming tendency of worming his way under your armor, doesn’t he?” Minimus said, with something that might have been a hint of a smile. "I only realized how much I had underestimated and mishandled him when he accepted me fully without question when -- well -- when the Minimus me was revealed." 

Megatron smiled just a little. He respected both the Ultra Magnus and Minimus parts of the mech next to him greatly. "He seems rather accepting of most mechs other than himself." 

“That does seem to be the case,” Minimus agreed, a bit sadly. “Which is a shame. He’d make an excellent leader if he had more faith in himself and wasn’t so desperate to simply prove himself to others instead.”

"He stands in a rather large shadow," Megatron said after a few kliks. "And he feels the weight of it. I'd assumed when I first came aboard this ship that he simply didn't care about anything outside himself."

“I’d thought the same, when I first met him.” Minimus admitted. “He’s very good at cultivating his image that way.”

Megatron took a slow sip from his drink. At least Swerve had started cutting the stuff with flavoring for him, even it was in exchange for never reading poetry at his bar. No accounting for taste in mechs these vorns. "I suppose the fact that he can count Drift among his closest friends should have hinted he was more than he seemed."

“Drift does tend to make sound judgements, yes. Well, most of the time. He cares a great deal for Rodimus,” Minimus agreed. 

"Someone should," Megatron muttered quite without meaning to voice that aloud.

Minimus graciously pretended that he didn’t hear it, and Megatron tried not to see the smile that he hid behind his glass. "Have you thought about joining some of the crew for movie night?"

Megatron snorted slightly. “I have no interest in Swerve’s idea of ‘good film.’ Besides that, I think my presence may be a -- distraction.”

"Swerve doesn't pick all the movies. I think he picks some of his choices simply to get a rise from me," Minimus chuckled. "Rewind often picks them, and I don't think most mechs would notice once the film started."

Megatron made a noncommittal noise in the back of his intake, sipping at his drink in an effort not to answer.

"Cyclonus goes often enough," Minimus commented. "As does Ten. I’m even fairly certain I’ve seen Ravage slinking into a couple."

“I’ll think about it.” Megatron finally relented.

Minimum patted his arm. "Now is that a new poem you have there?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus reconnects with part of himself.

Rodimus walked the halls of the Lost Light trying to burn off extra energy. Racing would have helped, but he didn't feel like annoying Magnus. Sparring with Drift was out since it was apparently 'date night' for him and Ratchet -- and Rodimus couldn't bring himself to resent his friend's happiness even a little. His normal, “get drunk and frag whoever was willing” was out because --

Because it made him feel like slag and he wanted to prove he could deal with his own scrap without that.

He stopped blinking when he realized he'd come to a dead end, a very colorful dead end. Ten was crouched down painting with a brush so tiny Rodimus was shocked it hadn't broken yet. 

"It's too bad Sunstreaker isn't here still, he'd love the color you're bringing to the ship," Rodimus said, after several kliks of watching. There were more brushes and paints on the floor. His servos itched.

"Ten," Ten said solemnly. 

"Yeah, I miss Sunny too, but I don't think the ship and everything were good for him or Bob," Rodimus told him nodding. "Besides, Sides needed his twin back. But he'd have loved this. I've never seen this much detail without an airbrush."

"Ten," the larger mech said proudly.

Rodimus hesitated. “You mind if I join you?” He finally asked. It was -- something, at least, even if he hadn’t painted since -- since before he’d joined the Autobots. The doodles on his desk really didn't count as anything.

Ten set down his brush, then picked up another offering it to Rodimus. "Ten!" he assured Rodimus happily. 

Rodimus smiled, taking the brush carefully. It had been a long time since he’d held a brush in his servos- it still felt good, some of the tension already draining out of his frame. He picked a blanket fall far enough away to not interfere with Ten's painting, but close enough that the paints were too far out of reach.

But what to paint -- 

He offlined his optics for a moment.

Oh.

He knew just what he wanted, maybe more than that, needed to paint. He brought his optics online again and started. Rodimus only hoped his memory file of it was uncorrupted enough.

Rodimus wasn’t sure how long he’d been at it -- time didn’t seem to move properly while he was painting, didn’t seem to pass at all as he stroked one color onto the wall, then another, then another -- at least not until his comm. went off impatiently in his audial.

:: _What,_ :: he responded with annoyance coloring the glyphs at the interruption. 

::Are you planning to arrive for your shift some time this orn?:: Megatron glyphs shimmered with irritation, and displeasure. 

Rodimus checked his internal clock and -- oh _slag_ he was late.

::Scrap, I'm sorry, I'll be right up.:: He sent hurriedly, then looked around. Ten had gone. How long ago Rodimus wasn't sure. He quick as he could cleaned his brush and lidded all the paint. He left the paint and brushes were Ten had them and made a internal note to thank Ten for letting him use his paints. Maybe he'd get Ten some new ones, more colors.

Yeah.

Rodimus glanced at the mural -- it wasn't near finished but oh -- 

His spark clenched, and his optics swam with cleansing fluid. 

"I'll finish you," he promised the image of the city he never stopped loving. Then he took off down the hall, taking all the shortcuts he knew to get to the bridge before Megatron pinged him again. 

Maybe he could’ve taken a few minutes to clean himself up, though, when Megatron gave him a look when he raced into the bridge. Rodimus followed the larger mech’s gaze and grimaced a little as he realized he was splattered with paint.

"Uh, sorry, I got caught up," Rodimus offered, rubbing the back of his neck. Drift was grinning widely. _Traitor_ , Rodimus thought without much bite. 

Megatron didn’t offer any comment other than a raised optic ridge. “The bridge is yours, Rodimus,” He told him, brushing past him as he left.

"Thank you, Megatron," Rodimus replied, hoping no one saw the tiny suppressed shiver as Megatron's frame brushed against his.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron has his own issues to deal with.

It didn’t bother him, Megatron told himself as he made his way through the halls of the Lost Light like the darkest storm cloud; mechs who had long since grown used to his presence were jumping out of his way left and right as though he’d pointed his fusion cannon at their heads. 

But it absolutely _did not bother him_ to see Rodimus covered in another color of paint -- and even though his processor _knew_ , logically, that it wasn’t from another mech; it was still wet, and Rodimus’ paint was unmarred underneath it. He kept telling himself that as he stormed down to his hab-suite, and inside. 

He could have asked Rodimus where he had been. He could have not shut him down and filled his field with shame at disappointing Megatron. When had Rodimus become afraid of disappointing him? Why did he care?

"You are in quite a mood," Ravage said looking up from a data pad. 

“Not now Ravage,” Megatron muttered.

"You're going to give yourself a processor ache," Ravage pointed out, going back to whatever it was he was reading, tail swaying idly. 

Megatron rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That would be nothing new," he exvented, sitting heavily on his berth. His head did ache, but it was focused more under his helm than any internal ache. Carefully he eased off his helm. He didn't do this often, it left him too vulnerable. It left him feeling too vulnerable.

Left him just _feeling_ too much. 

His crest unfurled. 

“Wow, you really are in a bad mood.” Ravage said, jumping down off the berth and padding over to sit beside Megatron. “What happened?”

"Nothing," Megatron exvented hard. "Which is part of the problem." He paused. "Rodimus was late for his shift."

Ravage raised an optic ridge. “That’s… practically an every orn occurrence.”

Megatron glared slightly at Ravage, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "He was covered in paint and I knew it was obviously fresh wet paint, but it -- angered me." 

“...wow you’ve got it bad.”

“Not. Helping. Ravage.”

Ravage's tail swished again. "I'm sorry, was I supposed to be helping?"

Megatron took a long invent as he circled his head trying to work out the kinks. Even just the air on his crest made him feel over sensitive. What came in handy in a mine wasn't always of good value elsewhere. "This is why Laserbeak was always dropping you, you realize," he said with a hint of humor. 

"Wow rude, Lord Megatron," Ravage laughed teasingly, settling down against Megatron. It was a comforting gesture, as it had always been -- although not for the same reasons, anymore. Soundwave’s absence was now almost a comfort in itself. Though he was sure it wasn't for Ravage. 

"You could return to Soundwave, I would not fault you, Ravage," Megatron said gently. 

Ravage flicked his tail at Megatron's side. "Rather obvious change in subject," he commented. "Yes, I do miss Soundwave, but I like it here and someone has to look out for you. You obviously need a keeper."

Megatron snorted. "Your concern is touching, Ravage, truly.”

"What can I say, I'm a giver," Ravage laughed. "So, what are you going to do about Roddy?"

" -- Roddy?" Megatron repeated, with not a little bit of amusement. 

“Don't avoid the question."

"You've been spending too much time with certain members of the crew," Megatron chuckled, then rubbed his fingers gently over part of his crest to ease some of the soreness from behind always trapped under the helm. "I have no idea what I am going to do about Rodimus. I've done my duty as Captain by him, that's all I have the right to do."

“It's not all you want to do though.” It wasn't a question.

Megatron invented slowly, then exvented just as slowly. "No, it isn't."

“So what are you going to do about it?” Ravage asked, tail twitching slightly, “Because obviously handling it isn't going well.”

Megatron shook his head. "I shouldn’t do anything about it. He's young," he hesitated, something in the region of his spark hurting as he went on, "damaged." He grimaced at his own words even if they felt true. Still, there was a certain feeling of freedom to be clumsy with his words instead of tailoring every glyph, every inflection, every possible meaning. 

“And you want to fix him,” Ravage said, “And don’t try to tell me you don’t, if that was true, you wouldn’t have set him up with Rung for appointments.”

"I did it so I wouldn't have to hear Optimus yelling at me for the baby Prime breaking," Megatron muttered dryly. "I'm not fool enough to think I can _fix_ other mechs, Ravage. Not anymore." 

Ravage butted his head up against Megatron’s servos. “Well, figure something out. I haven’t seen you this torn up over another mech since -- well, since Prime.”

Megatron dimmed his optics. "What do you suggest? I court the boy?"

“You said it, not me.” Ravage shrugged. “It’s fairly obvious that you like the brat at this point, and I’d say after that little visit he paid you he likes you back, so why not?”

"Desperate for validation and praise does not translate to 'likes', Ravage," Megatron pointed out, wondering idly if Ravage ever subjected Soundwave to this. 

Ravage smirked a little. “I notice you didn’t bother denying the rest of what I said.”

Megatron glared down at him. "Are you enjoying this?"

“Maybe a bit.”

"If I have a conversation with him about the issues at hand will you let me be on this?" Megatron asked, torn between amusement and frustration. He wasn't sure if he was reminded more of Soundwave's gently prodding, Deadlock's dry smirk, or Starscream's -- Starscreamness. At least he wasn't being told he was being illogical. 

“Depends on if you come storming back here in a huff after that conversation too,” Ravage told him, smug in his victory. Megatron could hear him purring.

Megatron rubbed Ravage's head for a moment, just behind the ears like he hated admitting he liked. "I need to speak to First Aid about padding my helm. I forgot how sore it becomes."

“Afraid Ratchet might prescribe cutting them off?"

He snorted. "No, more like I don't feel like hearing a certain medic lecture me about the helm in the first place and point out things I'm already well aware of in keeping my crest confined." Little things like nerve damage and impaired proximity sensing. He had learned how to compensate for such things long ago and he wasn’t about to change it now -- not to mention giving mechs such an obvious target was downright foolish. 

Had he been constructed a few vorn later he would have had sensor horns not the crest. He imagined only Rung and most certainly Tailgate would even recognize it fully… perhaps Cyclonus. Megatron ex-vented slightly. “I’ll speak with Rodimus.”

"Good," Ravage said. "I've got another halo-vid of that human historical drama you don't at all enjoy if you wish to watch with me."

“I don’t know why you find such things so entertaining.” Megatron muttered. “Or how you keep convincing Swerve to get them for you.”

"Rewind, actually," Ravage laughed. "And they remind me of some of the texts I was taught to read using." 

Megatron couldn’t help the way the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Put on whatever you want, I have reports to go over.” He said, pulling a datapad out of his subspace.

Ravage barely hid his snicker. "Of course you do."

\---

Megatron grimaced when he saw it was Ratchet on shift in the medical bay and turned to walk right back out.

"Turn right back around and get your aft over here, Megatron," Ratchet snapped, not looking up from the data pad he was working on. "You wouldn't come in here for no reason."

“It’s nothing that can’t wait --”

“Until what? Until I’m not on duty?” Ratchet asked, sounding amused. “The big bad Megatron’s afraid of a medic?”

Megatron crossed his arms. "I hear even Prime fears Hatchet," he shot back.

Ratchet snorted, but there was definitely something resembling a smile on his face. “That’s because Optimus wouldn’t know how to keep an appointment for a medical check up if I engraved it on his forehead.”

That sounded very much like Optimus and Orion, Megatron couldn't top his mouth from quirking slightly. "As amusing as I would have found that..."

“You came in here for a reason. What is it?” Ratchet asked, sounding almost curious. "Unless it was for the sparkling conversation." 

Megatron exvented slowly, resisting the urge to flee and hide from even the thought of revealing vulnerability. "My helm needs padding," he ground out, after making sure the door was indeed closed behind him. "It's causing -- issues."

Ratchet raised an optic ridge in confusion. “Your helmet?”

Grinding his denta, Megatron slid off the helmet. His optics dimmed automatically as they always did when new sensor input flooded in from the unfurling crest. "Yes," he bit out. 

Ratchet’s optics flickered in surprise, then he frowned. “I suppose I don’t need to tell you what a bad idea it is to keep that pinned down like that all the time.”

"No," Megatron said tightly, servos clenched tightly around his helmet. His instincts screamed at him to find someplace safe and _huddle_ away from the possible danger Ratchet could pose. Ratchet was only a medic, slag it, even on fool’s energon he could surely take on a medic, he told the instincts, shoving them down deep in his processor. 

The Medic didn't move or speak for a few kliks. "Maybe I examine the crest, Megatron? I have a feeling it's been awhile since anyone checked it and I'd like to see how much sensor damage you've taken."

Every part of Megatron shouted _NO_ , even as he nodded stiffly. The faster he got this over with the better. Medics had duty protocol programing didn't they? That should -- why was he worried about this? He and Ratchet had been in an almost truce since their conversation quite awhile ago about Rodimus. He grit his denta again. He was master of himself, his fears would not rule him. 

"You look tenser than Rodimus about seeing a medic," Ratchet commented. 

"I am not here to speak about Rodimus."

That got him another raised optic ridge. “Of course you aren't, sit down, it'll be easier for me to reach. And try to relax no one's going to attack you in here unless they want one of my wrenches thrown at their helm," Ratchet told him firmly. 

Megatron restrained himself from huffing and sat down where Ratchet indicated. "This is not necessary."

"You might have wanted to be a medic, but right now I'm the medic and I'll say what's necessary," Ratchet grumbled right back. "First Aid should have checked when they repaired you after the Getaway incident -- but kid probably didn't know to check for it - he's young enough to never have seen this type of external sensor - and I'm sure you didn't clue him in either." 

"Hardly seemed necessary."

"Stop saying necessary, it's clear you have no idea what it really means. I swear if I believed in Primus I'd think hard helmed mechs were my punishment for my party days." Ratchet ran a scanner of the crest and Megatron could feel the different sections shifting from the proximity of the device.

"Ah, yes, how had Orion put it once your 'party ambulance' days?" Megatron smirked

"Remind me to kick Optimus for sharing that," he muttered. 

"Only if you allow me to watch."

Ratchet chuckled dryly, then misted something over his crest. Even Megatron knew they took a klik too long to react and fold in slightly. "How much data are you getting from the crest?"

_Not nearly as much as I used to_ , part of Megatron’s processor whispered. “That is irrelevant, I function fine without --”

“I didn’t ask your opinion on it, I asked how much data you’re receiving,” Ratchet tone went firm, but not unkind. 

Megatron glared at him, but reluctantly looked at alerts that he’d been ignoring for -- he didn’t even remember how long anymore. “...forty-nine percent as much as recommended.” He finally muttered. 

"I assume I do not have to tell you how not good that is," Ratchet said, voice almost gentle. "Another helm blow and more damage to your crest and it could incapacitate you." 

Megatron looked away, ex-venting. “I am aware of how my own frame functions, yes.”

"Are you?" Ratchet said, still gentle. Which unnerved Megatron more than anything. "Your self-repair nanites are working overtime. I wondered why, before the trial, your systems were acting so sluggish and your self repair didn't seem to be keeping up at all."

“I’ve survived just fine so far,” Megatron snapped.

“That greatsword you took through your chest recently says otherwise,” Ratchet told him.

Megatron snarled. "What are implying?" he demanded.

"Hold still, this gel will help the sensors recover slightly and keep them from being overwhelmed as they start to repair. Let me know if you feel any pain." Ratchet started carefully coating sections of Megatron's unfurled crest with a gel. Megatron fought to not flinch at the overwhelming sensory input he got. "And I'm not implying, I'm flat out saying. If the sensor array had been at even eighty percent you would have sensed Tailgate when he entered your hab-suite. Stealthy the kid is not." 

Megatron ex-vented harshly. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Ratchet was right. It had been impossible for someone to sneak up on him when he was first created -- in the mines, in the Gladiator pits, the array had been invaluable. But as thing got more hectic, and he had less time to maintain its upkeep -- and then, less inclination to let others use it as a target to try to cripple or incapacitate him -- he’d found it more of a burden than a boon. A reminder of what he was trying to leave behind. A reminder of the sole reason he'd been constructed. 

"I wouldn't have struck him if I hadn't seen the needles," Megatron half confessed, half tried to excuse that Tailgate wouldn't have been close enough to be struck. He _liked_ the little mini-bot who desperately wanted to be something other than what he'd been created to be. 

“No one’s blaming you for Getaway’s plan, Megatron,” Ratchet told him, “Not even Cyclonus. But if Ravage hadn’t been there, and Tailgate had gotten close enough, things would have ended much differently than they did.”

Megatron wondered if Ratchet had considered that he blamed himself for Getaway's plan. After all if he hadn't been on the Lost Light -- "I know."

Ratchet eyed him. “You know, for all you were worried about Rodimus taking care of himself, it seems a little hypocritical if you don’t do the same.”

"I'm far older with far more spilled energon on my hands."

“That’s no excuse.” Ratchet told him, firmly. "Letting yourself run down and become damaged because you don't think deserve otherwise doesn't help anyone nor does it bring anyone back from the dead."

“You think I’m doing this as some sort of repentance?” Megatron asked, amused.

"Maybe not before you told Optimus you wanted to make amends," Ratchet voice was sharp even as his touch stayed gentle. "But you've had full frame rebuilds enough time you could have done away with your crest sensor array. Yet, here you are how many million years later, still shoving it under a helmet. You might not be carving numbers into your hand, but that doesn't make what you have been doing any less like self harm."

Megatron stiffened at the mention of the numbers. “So you saw them too.”

"He showed them to me," Ratchet bit off. "As if I'd be happy to see that he'd hurt himself, like it was the only way to prove he'd 'learned'. I'm a slagging medic, like I wouldn't recognize self harm when I see it. I treat Whirl for scrap sake."

“And you didn’t think it would have been wise to make him see Rung _then_?” Megatron asked.

Ratchet started wiping his hands off with a cloth apparently done with the gel. "Open your medical diagnostic panel," he said, scowling. "I did, he conveniently forgot at every turn until the usual crises started up and gave him better excuses. I also tried to get Optimus to talk to him - Kup would have been a better option but --" Ratchet shook his head. “He’s getting help now, at least. Thanks to you.”

Megatron sent the command to open his diagnostic panel, even as he thought about protesting that a full check-up was not why he’d come. “That sounds like Rodimus,” he muttered.

"Kid had been doing better for a while, but what happened inside Vector Sigma hit him hard," Ratchet sighed, pulling into the medical ports. "You aren't going to like this, but my medical orders are for you to keep your helmet off for at least a deca-cycle."

“No.” Megatron said immediately.

"Medical order," Ratchet repeated, with a glare. "I have no problem going to Magnus and Rodimus about this, Megatron. You need to keep the helmet so those sensors can heal or you'll lose full functionality of them, not to mention at some point soon you won't be _able_ to unfurl the crest which will cause even more problems. And don't spit scrap at me, I can see your system's status."

Megatron _glowered_ at Ratchet. “This is --”

“Ahp ahp ahp don’t you dare say unnecessary. Only one of us in this medibay has the medical training to make that call,” Ratchet told him firmly. "And on medical matters I outrank everyone on this ship."

“You can’t be serious.” Megatron growled. Suggesting that he walk around a ship -- after a near successful attempt at his life -- with some of his most vulnerable places exposed for everyone to see? Megatron was about to recommend Ratchet go and see Rung next.

"Because I often joke about the health of my patients," Ratchet groused, detaching from the Megatron's medical ports. "Megatron, you to realize the crew respects you, don't you?" Megatron was silent. Ratchet ex-vented. “Look. You’re doing this whether you like it or not, I do outrank you on this, _Captain_. And it will give me time to pad and redesign your damn helmet to make sure that this doesn’t happen again.”

Megatron's hands balled into fists. "Do you speak to Optimus like this, Doctor?"

“If I was speaking to Optimus there would be yelling and swearing, he’s more stubborn about medical treatment than you are.” Ratchet scoffed.

"Fine," Megatron ground out, between clenched denta. "If those are your orders, Doctor."

Ratchet huffed. "This isn't punishment, Megatron. Now, here, you need to spread this over the crest once an orn. You might need help getting some sections." Ratchet held out a tube of the gel he'd used earlier. 

Megatron controlled the urge to grimace, taking the tube. Ravage wouldn't be able to help there. “Is that all?”

"I'm going to medical recommend that you be given full proper energon rations," Ratchet said, picking up a data. "It will help your self repair nanites." 

That… had not been what Megatron had been expecting. “You would be subverting Prime’s direct orders.”

"Direct orders I told him were slagging stupid," Ratchet grumbled. "You bet I am. I have to clear _this_ with Rodimus and Ultra Magnus, but I don't think it'll be an issue. Rodimus is still technically a Prime."

Megatron found himself still staring at Ratchet like he expected the medic to grow another head

"If you have any sensitivity issues or sensory overstimulation, let me know and we'll deal with it," Ratchet said, then looked back down at the data pad. "Now get out of my medibay."

Megatron stood. "I thought First Aid was CMO now."

"I'm on duty, my medibay. Out." Megatron automatically reached for his helmet. “Leave it. I told you I’d get it padded. Now, out.”

He did not at all flee the medibay. He had been a Warlord, a Gladiator, he did not flee. He just walked very briskly away from Ratchet. And if he heard the medic chuckle as he exited, he pretended not to hear it.

Hatchet indeed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few steps forward.

Rodimus did a double take when Megatron walked into his office. At least, he was pretty sure it was Megatron. The scowl was right, but the rest -- “Uh, hey, Megatron.”

"Not a word," Megatron snapped, dropping his data pad with shift reports on Rodimus desk. Right on the flower Rodimus had been etching. 

"Uh, about what?" Rodimus asked confused, optics refocusing. Had he missed something? "Have I screwed up again and no one told me? Is this about painting that wall down near the cargo hold -- I even checked with Magnus it's not against regulations or anything -- and no one cares when Ten paints things everywhere. It's just one wall -- "

Megatron gave him a dry look. 

Rodimus cycled his optics. "Megatron?" 

“Rodimus, I am in fact aware of what you’re staring at,” Megatron told him, tightly.

"What? I'm not staring at anything? I'm looking at your face," Rodimus protested. Then something in his processor clicks. "What -- do you mean your sensor crest? I mean it's a little strange seeing you like that, I didn't even know you had one, but it's not the first one I've seen. Why would I stare? I don't stare at anyones' sensor horns, do I?" Megatron’s optics flickered in surprise. 

Megatron optics shifted to look at the desk. "My apologies."

"Has someone been giving you slag about it?" Rodimus asked, suddenly angry in a protective way he normally only felt about Drift or Minimus. "Just tell me who it was and I'll talk to them." Possibly with his fist. 

"No one has given me any 'slag' about it, so far," Megatron huffed, looking uncomfortable. "You are familiar with crests like mine?"

Rodimus nodded quickly. "Yeah, mech that taught me to do paint jobs had one. He used to be a miner or something because he wound up in Nyon somehow. Never got the story from him. Swear to Primus he could tell someone was coming into the shop kliks before you heard an engine. Was impossible to goof off around him." Rodimus smiled in fond memory, even tainted by sadness as it was. 

“I see.” Megatron said. “I apologize for my presumptions.” 

He turned to leave.

"Uh, I've approved Ratchet's recommendation. I'm sorry we didn't do it sooner -- the whole fool's engeron thing was slag anyways," Rodimus said quickly, not wanting to Megatron to just leave. They hadn't really talked since that night in Megatron's hab-suite. "I take it Ratch's recommendation is related to you not wearing your helmet? You don't really seem -- comfortable. If there's anything I can do to make any of this easier on you -- " 

“I have survived far worse, Rodimus,” Megatron told him, snapping slightly. 

Rodimus winced. 

Megatron’s expression went unreadable for a moment before he sighed, “...I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.”

Rodimus shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with everything. He was scrap at stuff like this. He stared down at his desk tracing one of the patterns he'd etched into it with a servo. "Sorry about being late to shift the other orn, I really did just get caught up painting. I hadn't really done it in, well a few million years."

“It’s fine. You weren’t that late.” Megatron told him. He looked from the door to the chair on his side of the desk, exvented, then sat down. “I -- wasn’t aware you painted at all.”

"I just mess around with it -- never got formally trained or anything. Didn’t have the money, not to mention whoever heard of a speedster going to the Academy for art? Not the functionalists on the Senate that's for sure." Rodimus snorted bitterly. It was hard to believe that it still stung all this time later. "Uh, Digger caught me tagging a wall out back of his shop, next thing I know I have a job doing custom paint jobs. He let me mess around and paint different murals outside and inside the shop. I was no Sunstreaker or Ten -- still not sure what the ol' mech saw in me."

Rodimus wondered about that with Kup too.

“Potential, most likely,” Megatron said wryly, almost smiling. “That or free labor.”

“Wow, rude,” Rodimus snorted, tossing a stress ball -- Rung’s idea -- at Megatron’s head.

Megatron caught it smoothly. “Really? Resorting to throwing things, Rodimus?”

“It’s a stress ball. Rung wouldn’t have given it to me if he thought it could hurt anyone,” Rodimus protested, then winced, "...Sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I’ve had worse thrown at me,” Megatron chuckled, tossing the stress ball into the air and catching it idly. “For worse reasons.”

Rodimus laughed, shaking his head. "Me too. Someone once threw a ship at my head."

Megatron made a sound that was very much like a contained laugh. "I'm sure you inspired them." 

“Yeah I seem to inspire that in a lot of mechs,” Rodimus joked. "Not always ships though. Sometimes it's guns, parts of walls, other mechs --"

Megatron was staring a little. 

Rodimus laughed nervously. "The other mechs was mostly Whirl, sometimes Arcee. I mean them throwing mechs at me," He shifted slightly, optics sliding away from Megatron. “I mean, I’m fine, obviously, it’s not a big deal.”

"Yours and other mechs disregard for your safety is a big deal," Megatron said after a moment. "It is to me, at the least." 

Wow, okay that didn't make his spark flutter at all or his intake feel tight. "So, neither of us are on shift right now -- do you want to see what I've been painting? I've sorta wanted another person to see it so I knew I was remembering the city right -- and most mechs here -- not many mechs remember Nyon from before."

“...if that’s alright with you,” Megatron said after a moment.

Rodimus nodded quickly bouncing up from his chair. "Wouldn't have asked if it wasn't!"

“Lead the way then,” Megatron said. “But I still expect you to get that paperwork done before your shift,” he added, smirking.

"Jeez, Megatron, you're starting to sound like Mags," Rodimus laughed happily. Even if Megatron had never been to Nyon personally, he'd remember what it looked like before. Every other depiction Rodimus had seen after -- after Nyon was depicted as some sort of shining gem. Maybe it had been once, but that wasn't _his_ Nyon. "C'mon, just follow me."

Megatron followed him, frowning just a little, but maybe that was just his resting face. Some of the crew stared, but Rodimus just gave them 'what the pit you looking at' looks and they stopped being _dumb_. Sure, Megatron was _pretty_ like this, but they didn't have to stare. 

"Why don't you call me 'Megs' anymore?" Megatron asked after they'd gone down a few levels. 

“Huh?” Rodimus replied elegantly, caught off guard by the question. “Oh. Uh, well, I mean -- you didn’t like it, so I stopped?”

"...you stopped because I asked you to," Megatron repeated. "Yet you still call Ultra Magnus: 'Mags."

Rodimus shrugged, they were almost there. "He'd actually be hurt if I stopped." Rodimus looked over at him. “I mean, if you _want_ me to start calling you Megs again --”

"No," Megatron said quickly. "No, I do not want you to start calling me that again."

“Then I won’t.” Rodimus shrugged. “Anyway, we’re here,” he told Megatron as he turned the corner. He looked everywhere but at Megatron, rubbing the back of his neck again. "I know it's not really very good. The perspective is off and I should have sketched it out a bit first but -- "

“Rodimus,” Megatron interrupted him gently. “Don’t sell yourself short. This is incredibly well done.” 

Rodimus snuck a peek at Megatron's face. The former Warlord was studying the painting intently, his sensor crest -- that Rodimus couldn't help thinking look so pretty and delicate and like some sort of techno-organic flower -- flared out more. 

"You really think so?" 

“Have I ever struck you as the type to dole out compliments insincerely, Rodimus?” Megatron asked, raising an optic ridge.

"I guess not," Rodimus admitted. "I'm just not used to hearing you give them out. At least to me."

“I don’t tend to hand them out as readily as you did those awful stars of yours,” Megatron said, with a quirk to his lips that was all teasing.

Rodimus ducked his helm. "Some of the crew like them."

“I’ve noticed. You might have had better success by using your words with your crew,” Megatron suggested. "I've been told that works on occasion."

"Says the mech that writes poetry," Rodimus shot back good naturedly

“Well I suppose I would be something of an expert on words then, wouldn’t I,” Megatron countered, smirking.

Rodimus laughed. "I guess you could look at it that way."

Megatron chuckled. “Regardless of my arguable mastery, I did mean what I said, Rodimus. This is very well done.”

His face plates were turning pink, Rodimus just knew it. "Thanks -- I was really worried that -- " he bit his bottom lip, denting the soft metal. "Most mechs would think I was being disrespectful or something. Everyone wants to think Nyon was some shining city like Iacon was because Metroplex turned out to be part of Nyon. But it wasn't, not while I lived there. It was rusted and rundown, there was always an Engeron shortage, and half the time solvent wouldn't run in the wash racks, but it was my home. And I loved it."

“I understand,” Megatron told him, voice in lower timbre than Rodimus swore he'd ever heard it. "You loved Nyon enough to save it however you could, you loved it enough to still mourn it."

“...yeah,” Rodimus said, wondering how Megatron managed to sum up all of his feelings on the matter so succinctly.

"Rodimus." Megatron's hand settled on his shoulder, somehow it seemed to have more weight, more meaning than anytime Optimus and Magnus had done the same thing. "You did what you thought was right."

“Yeah, I do that a lot. Doesn't always mean I'm right.”

"They would have died even if you had not set off the charges." Megatron squeezed his shoulder gently. "I cannot give you absolution or forgiveness, Rodimus. Only you can give yourself that and maybe it is far past time you did."

Rodimus went quiet at that, staring at his unfinished mural. "What if I can't?" his voice sounded shaky and staticy even to himself. He rubbed his thumb over the palm of his hand, the numbers were gone, but he could still feel the sting and grooves. 

Megatron's exvent was warm against his helm. "I haven't figured that part out yet myself." 

Rodimus glanced back at Megatron, then looked towards his mural again. “...weirdly that kind of makes me feel better.”

"Good," Megatron told him warmly, then his voice seemed to hesitate. "May I ask a favor of you, Rodimus?"

“Me? Uh, sure, I guess.” 

Megatron exvented again, almost nervously. Which, Megatron? Nervous? "Ratchet wishes me to apply a nanogel to my sensor crest to aid with it's healing. There are parts I cannot reach and Ravage -- is not suited to the task."

“Oh! Yeah, I guess paws probably wouldn’t really be good for that, huh?” Rodimus commented “Yeah, sure, I’ll help. Wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with the Hatchet.”

"Thank you," Megatron said.

"So, uh, do you want me to come to your hab-suite later or you to mine?" Rodimus asked, then realized how that could sound. "I mean -- we can just do it in the office if you like. The gel, I mean, I can help you with the gel wherever you feel most comfortable." He slapped a hand over his face. “I’m just going to shut up now.”

Megatron's hand slid from his shoulder. Rodimus already missed the weight. "Mine would likely be best." 

“Sure,” Rodimus agreed from behind his hand, “Just ping me whenever.”

"Try not to asphyxiate yourself before then with your own hands," Megatron added. 

“Your concern is touching,” Rodimus said, from behind his fingers. He smiled though.

Megatron chuckled. "I'd have to Captain this crew all on my own, don't do that to me."

“What, don’t think you could handle it?” Rodimus asked, peeking out from behind his servos. He felt silly, but Megatron seemed almost -- charmed.

"I think they would drive me mad within a deca-cycle," Megatron told him. "I believe Rung is far too overworked as it is to do that to him."

Rodimus laughed a little. “Yeah I probably oughta look at maybe getting another therapist on board,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. What with the myriad of issues his crew seemed to have -- some of which were his fault. "I'll talk to him about that next time I see him outside his office. He probably could recommend someone. Unless we managed to luck into the only sane psychologists left amongst our people," Rodimus pointed out while making a face. He remembered the last psychologist other than Rung they'd run across.

“...you know that would explain a lot,” Megatron mused. "I will ping you later, I should get to the bridge before Magnus has a fit about me not being early for once."

Rodimus laughed. “Yeah, don’t mess with Ultra Magnus’ expectations, it makes him cranky, and he’ll take it out on Swerve or someone.” 

Megatron nodded. "I hope you will let me see the mural once it is completed," he said as he walked back towards the lift. 

His vocalizer froze up and didn't finish rebooting until he was out of aduial range, but Rodimus still heard himself whisper, "You'll be the first mech to see it." 

_Frag, he was in trouble._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end and the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Art inspired by this chapter](http://manicpixiedreamdragon.tumblr.com/post/142002763150/erikaskerzz-congratulations-to) by [erikaskerzz](http://erikaskerzz.tumblr.com/)

Megatron paced in his quarters, glad Ravage had gone out so the other wouldn't see him so -- ill at ease. He'd pinged Rodimus a joor ago and gotten a responses that Rodimus was getting some sort of lesson from Drift. Megatron paused in his pacing.

Fine, he was jealous. But not of Drift, more he was jealous of privileges with Rodimus Drift _had_ as Rodimus' amica, best friend, and grounding force.

Primus, this was ridiculous. He hadn't acted like this since -- since --

_Orion._

Since Orion Pax. Megatron let out a shaky ex-vent, running a hand over his face (and wincing slightly when he hit the edges of his crest that he was still very unused to being out). This was a terrible idea. After everything went wrong -- so, _so_ wrong -- with Orion -- with _Optimus_ , did he really --

Megatron stopped himself. Rodimus was not Orion or Optimus. He was Rodimus. It wasn’t fair to compare him to either. It wasn't fair to Rodimus or himself. 

Not that it made this less of a terrible idea. He could ruin Rodimus so easily and that was the last thing he wanted. He wanted Rodimus to be happy - truly happy. He wanted Rodimus --

Megatron exvented again. That was the problem wasn't it? 

He sat down on the edge of his berth. "I want him," he whispered into the quiet of his hab-suite. It felt worse, somehow, to admit it out loud, even if it was only to himself, but also like a weight had been lifted. He laughed a little, mostly because Ravage wasn't there to laugh at him. 

The door pinged.

Well, that would be Rodimus. Megatron should go let him in. 

Yes, he should stand and let Rodimus in so the young mech could press against his back strut or straddle his lap while gliding those lovely servos all over Megatron's very sensitive crest that hadn't truly been touched for a very long time. 

This possibly had been a terrible idea. 

It would be _fine_. It was just a medical necessity, that was all. 

And Ratchet hadn’t said anything about him turning off the sensors temporarily. It would leave him arguably sense blind until he turned them back on, but he’d been living with that for eons. It would be fine.

It would be better than accidentally overloading from overwhelming sensory input. The last thing he wanted was for Rodimus to feel _used_ or tricked.

The door pinged again. ::Megatron? If you changed your mind I can get lost --::

Megatron forced himself to walk over to the door, opening it. “My apologies, I was -- lost in thought.”

Rodimus optics cycled then refocused on Megatron's face. "It's fine, sorry it took so long. Drift's a tough taskmaster when it comes to blades."

“I wasn’t aware you had any interest in learning swordplay.”

"I was learning some before Drift left -- I didn't take it as seriously as I should then but -- " Rodimus shrugged. "He's just teaching me sword forms now as a form of mediation. I can't sit still long enough for the other stuff."

“I see.”

Rodimus optics slid away from his. "Sorry, you -- probably don't want to hear about that stuff."

Megatron shook his head. “I don’t mind, Rodimus. It just never struck me as something that would interest you. Clearly I have a lot to learn.”

"I kinda learned to not let mechs know what really interests me," Rodimus confessed. "Old habits die hard and all that. Who'd think Hot Rod liked to paint and was interested sword arts -- meteor surfing that's something Hot Rod would like. Which you know I do, but -- I like the other stuff too."

That, at least, Megatron could understand. “You know you don’t have to try and maintain your ‘image’ with the crew, don’t you?”

Rodimus ducked his helm. "Like I said old habits. I guess most of the them if they were going to bail would have by now." 

Megatron couldn't help notice Rodimus rubbing his servos over his palm. “Well, in any case. You certainly don’t have to keep it up with me.”

"Thank you," Rodimus said looking back up. "That -- it means a lot. But, uh, I didn’t come down here so we could talk about me, I came down to help you with your crest, right?"

"Ah, yes," Megatron said, clearing his intake nervously. 

“If, uh, if you changed your mind, I can go?” Rodimus offered. "I'd understand if you didn't trust me with something so delicate and important." He laughed a little, a sliver of a bitter edge dancing in his field. "I mean I broke the matrix after all."

Even if he had changed his mind, Megatron certainly wouldn’t have had the spark to tell him to leave now. “No, Rodimus, I have not changed my mind. After all, I am operating under doctor’s orders.”

Rodimus bit his lip as his severos kept worrying over the spot those numbers used be carved. "Yeah, but you could have asked someone else."

Megatron reached out and caught one of Rodimus' hands. "But I asked you."

Rodimus’ optics widened as he looked down at Megatron’s hand around his. “Oh. Um. O-okay then.”

"Where would you be most comfortable?" Megatron asked. He realized his thumb was stroking over Rodimus' palm, but he didn't stop.

"Isn't that my line?" Rodimus asked with a nervous little laugh.

Megatron smiled. "Perhaps we should pick a place that will make up both comfortable then. I will need to be sitting due to our size difference." 

“Heh, yeah, probably. Can’t exactly reach from down here.” Rodimus grinned, reaching his arm up as a joke. "Uhm, the couch maybe?"

Megatron nodded, stepping backwards from Rodimus and walked over to the couch, sitting down.

Rodimus walked over to him, eyeing him like Megatron would exploded if Rodimus did the wrong thing. His denta sank into his bottom lip. "Uh, do you have the gel."

“Of course. This would’ve been a rather pointless endeavor without it,” Megatron said, amused, reaching into his subspace and pulling the gel out.

"Oh good," Rodimus said still looking uncertain even as he took the tube. Then as if coming to a decision he knelt on the couch next to Megatron. "I'll try to warm it up in my hands first."

Megatron nodded-- it would give him time to shut off the sensors in his crest. 

Rodimus squeezed some of the gel onto his serovs then rubbed them together. "Uhm, tell me if I press too hard or if I'm being too rough. I don't want to hurt you -- or damage anything."

 _Slag_. Megatron cursed himself and his stupidity -- of course Rodimus would be concerned with that. But if he turned off the sensors in his crest, he wouldn’t know if any further damage had been done until he turned them back on. And Ratchet might legitimately kill him. “It’s -- fine, Rodimus. You cannot do any more damage than I’ve already done myself, I’m sure.”

Rodimus' first touch to his senor crest was almost too delicate. "That doesn't mean I want to cause more damage," he told Megatron with a very quiet voice. He'd started at the edge of the crest that joined Megatron's forehelm. "I know that's all I'm good at most orns, but I don't like it."

Megatron wanted -- really and truly -- to rebuke that statement, but his vocalizer had mysteriously gone offline the moment Rodimus’ servos touched his crest. _Oh_ , but he was in trouble. His crest unfurled completely under Rodimus' light touch. The gel was frame warm, and Rodimus front was pressed flushed with Megatron's side. 

Rodimus made a noise that Megatron recognized as a stifled giggle, and he turned his head slightly to narrow his optics at him. “Sorry, sorry. Just -- you look kinda like a flower when you do that,” Rodimus offered, grinning a little fondly. "It's -- it's just really pretty."

"Pretty," Megatron echoed. No one had ever called his crest anything so -- complimentary before. Even Orion had just opted to not speak of it -- though that may have been his own fault, with his obvious disdain for it. 

"Yeah," Rodimus affirmed, applying gel to the underside of one section. "Pretty. I like how you look with it. You look -- more like you."

Megatron let out a sound that was almost a moan. “You’ve -- you’ve never seen me without my helmet before today,” He managed to get out, hoping that the way he cleared his intake covered the noise.

Rodimus shifted higher on his knees. "True, but doesn't change that you do." A servo traced an inner edge spreading the gel as it went. Rodimus would have to move soon to reach the rest of Megatron's crest. "How much can you feel?"

 _Too fragging much_ , Megatron thought. "Enough," he managed to say.

"Okay, just -- tell me if I press to hard," Rodimus told him, concern in his voice. He shifted against Megatron then climbed over him, straddling his lap. His fans were whirring and tiny shivers were running up and down his frame as he spread more gell across Megatron's crest. "I -- " His vocalizer spit out static. "I'll trying to be fast with this part." 

Megatron took some small comfort that at least he wasn’t the only one being affected here. "Careful," he said, hands going to Rodimus' hips to steady him. Primus, he shouldn't have done that. 

Rodimus shuddered full body. "I -- I need to finish with the gel," Rodimus almost whined. His servos were shaking slightly as he kept spreading the gel, but the touch was still gentle. "I'm not going to mess this up."

Megatron vented deeply. He wanted to tell Rodimus that he couldn’t mess this up, because Megatron was fairly certain he’d done that already. He’d just -- let Rodimus finish, apologize for -- for all of this, and tell him he’d find someone else to help him. 

Dexterous severos sought out every part of his crest that hadn't been coated and spread the gel over them. With every pass Megatron's sensors woke up more, sung to him of how good Rodimus felt. Nothing could keep his fans from clicking higher, but he refused to let his control slip more than that. 

"I'm sorry," Rodimus whispered, servos retreating. There was no place else to spread gel. "I know you don't want me. I - I crossed a line. I shouldn't have -- your lap. I'm sorry, Megatron. I wasn't trying to -- "

Megatron almost laughed, because oh how wrong Rodimus was. "Rodimus, I'm the one that should be sorry." His hands still framed Rodimus' hips.

“For what? I mean, it’s not -- I mean, first that night after you dragged me out of Swerve’s and now this, I’m the one who keeps -- keeps messing up,” Rodimus protested. 

"Rodimus, I'm the one with my hands on your hips," Megatron said gently. "You haven't messed up at all. I shouldn't have put you in this position. I fear I've taken advantage of you."

“...you could keep taking advantage.” Rodimus said after a several kliks. "I wouldn't mind." 

Megatron offlined his optics to steady himself even as his hands tightened on Rodimus' frame. The decision he made in those kliks seemed both the natural outcome of events and the moment unwise thing he could have done since stepping aboard the Lost Light. He brought his optics back online so he wouldn't miss any shifts of Rodimus' expression. "I don't want to take advantage of you, Rodimus. I will not _use_ you as others have. You are worth so much more than that." He pulled one hand away from Rodimus' hip and laid it the thrumming pulse of Rodimus' spark. Megatron's own seemed to full into a complementary rhythm. "If we are to do this, we will do this right. With both of us having a full understand of what we want for each other."

“If?” Rodimus asked, hopefully. 

Megatron carefully let his field brush against Rodimus'. "If," he repeated, then carefully brought Rodimus' face to his own. His pressed his mouth against Rodimus' in a brief, tender, but chaste kiss. "I wish to court you, Rodimus of Nyon."

The way Rodimus briefly chased his mouth was -- endearing, and entirely too attractive. “Wait you -- you want to court me?” He asked, confusion plain in his tone and in his field. Those lovely blue optics had gone wide . 

"I do," Megatron told him warmly. He let the younger mech feel that warmth in his field, his desire for Rodimus on all lives, the thrum of affection. "I want you to be sure that I crave more than your frame for a single night."

Rodimus’ intake bobbed. “I -- okay. Do I -- do anything? I’ve never had someone want to court me before?” He laughed a little nervously. "I wasn't really from the right side of the road for that sorta thing."

"Neither was I," Megatron reminded him softly. He stroked his servos over Rodimus' face plates in a gentle caress, tracing seams. "But you deserve to have this done right. You don't have to do anything, but enjoy our time together if you wish and let me try to make you happy -- but it can stop anytime you wish. If you decide that this is not what you truly want."

“Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” Rodimus promised with a smiled. "This mean I can kiss you more?"

Megatron laughed. His spark felt lighter than it had any right to.. "I would not object at all, Rodimus. I would enjoy it, in fact.."

Rodimus grinned, leaning in closer. "I'm good at kissing," he half dragged, before sliding his mouth over Megatron's. Megatron groaned, his servos tightening on Rodimus’ waist. Yes, Rodimus was _very_ good at this.

"You are good at a great many things, Rodimus," Megatron said with a soft purr. He gently stroked Rodimus spoiler. 

“Yeah, but, I know I’m real good at this,” he said smugly as he rocked his hips down.

Megatron stopped him with a firm hand. "Kissing, Rodimus. I'm not taking you to the berth tonight."

Rodimus whined a little. “I -- right, okay.”

"Shh, sweetspark, it doesn't mean I don't want you," Megatron assured him. 

“Yeah, no, I got that,” Rodimus said with a nervous little laugh, “I’m just -- not used to this.”

He kissed Rodimus over the autobrand that adorned his chest plates. "I know, that's partly why I'm doing it." 

Rodimus squirmed a little. “You mean not making this easy?”

Megatron chuckled softly. "Brat." He played smacked Rodimus' aft. 

Rodimus yelped a little, though his field bloomed with pleasure. “Hey!” 

"Thank you for helping with my crest, Rodimus," Megatron rumbled. "I think, though, you should leave now. Before -- I forget myself."

“Yeah, no problem. You’ll, um. You said you have to put that on every orn?” Rodimus asked.

Megatron moaned softly, remembering the feel of Rodimus' servos on his crest. "Yes."

Rodimus grinned. “So, same time tomorrow?”

"Yes, but perhaps we can share engeron first," Megatron suggested. 

Rodimus’ grin softened, it looked good on him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

"The commissary or would you rather go to Swerve's?" Megatron asked, sliding Rodimus off his lap. 

“Uh, the commissary, I guess?” Rodimus said, letting Megatron move him. “Can’t imagine what Swerve’s gonna say if we walk in there together.”

Megatron rose to his feet, then leaned down for another kiss. "Swerve is your friend, Rodimus. He might tease, but I hardly think he'll be cruel."

“Yeah, I know,” Rodimus rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm more kinda worried he'll say something and chase you off."

Megatron chuckled. “Questioning my conviction already?”

"I meant from the bar," Rodimus protested. 

“Rodimus, I can assure you, Swerve of all mechs does not scare me," Megatron told him, amused at Rodimus' concern. "Even if he doesn't have any taste in poetry. I really don't understand what Magnus sees in him.”

"Well -- Swerve likes hugs,"Rodimus teased, then laughed at the glower Megatron leveled at him. “I mean, I’m pretty sure Magnus would say the same to you about me.” 

Megatron stroked the side of Rodimus' face. "Possibly. I will see you next orn, Rodimus.."

Rodimus smile took on a shy quality. "I look forward to it. Can I get a good-night kiss?"

“I suppose.” Megatron smirked as he leaned down for another kiss. "Good, recharge, Rodimus."

Rodimus pulled Megatron into a deeper kiss, glossa brushing against the seam of Megatron's lips. "Are you sure I can't stay?" 

“Good _night_ , Rodimus,” Megatron said, nudging the younger bot toward the door with another swift, but gentle, swat to his aft.

"Hey! No fair," Rodimus protested lightly, rubbing his aft. "Good night, old man." His grin was wide and teasing much like the ones he used to plaster on his face so often at Swerve's, but went all the way to his optics.

Megatron shook his helm and shut the door after watching Rodimus head down the hall. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective polished metal hanging on the wall and almost didn’t recognize himself. His mouth was upturned and the crest he'd always hated for what it marked him as was unfurled -- pretty Rodimus had called it -- called him. He shook his helm again, but couldn't stop smiling. 

He supposed he'd have to get used to Rodimus giving him such compliment. Rodimus was the pretty one of them two, but that was a tactic he wouldn't take. Plenty of mechs had probably praised Rodimus' frame. Megatron wanted to compliment Rodimus' spark, processor, all of him. 

"Well," Megatron told his reflection. "It's been a long time since I wrote a poem for a mech."

He did, after all, need a first courting present for Rodimus the next orn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We realized our planned ending wouldn't fit with the character growth Rodimus has undergone and, in fact, realized I second fic was called for to tell the story properly. We hope, though, that you have enjoyed this story and Rodimus and Megatron journey so far. 
> 
> You can find us on tumblr at:  
> http://manicpixiedreamdragon.tumblr.com/  
> http://obstinate-nocturna.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the authors on tumblr at http://manicpixiedreamdragon.tumblr.com/ and http://obstinate-nocturna.tumblr.com/


End file.
